Owen groaned again; inaudibly, he hoped.
Mahmoud, however, became fierce.
Did you touch her? he demanded.
No! I would never show her any disrespect, never-
Are you sure?
Never! Never! I was honourable, she was honourable. She was always honourable. She-
The boy dissolved in tears.
All right, all right. All right!
Never! sobbed the boy.
All right! So what did you do?
Do? The boy looked at him in surprise. We didnt do anything.
You must have done something. What happened next?
Nothing. Leila said we must stop seeing each other now that she was betrothed.
So-?
So we stopped seeing each other.
Come on, you dont expect me to believe that!
Just the once. I said I had to see her, she owed it to me. And then-
Yes?
I pleaded with her. I pleaded with her for hours. But she said no, she was betrothed, it was different now, and we must stop seeing each other.
And what about the next time?
There was no next time.
You just went away?
No. Not at first. II hung around. But she wouldnt see me. And in the end-yes, I went away. The fates were against us!
And you never saw her again?
Never. I wanted to, but-Then one day I heard.
That-?
That she was dead.
How did you hear?
My work brings me down in these parts sometimes. I went into a shop to buy some oranges and I heard the women talking.
And then you went away again?
What else was there to do? the boy said.
After the boy had gone, they talked to the woman.
No, she said, she hadnt done it, although she knew who had. It had all been very difficult because there was no mother to act on Leilas behalf. If there had been, all this wouldnt have happened. Leila would have been circumcised years before.
But that fool of a father-
The mother had died soon after they arrived in Cairo and the father had not married again.
That was a mistake; the girl needed a mother.
They were, of course, desperately poor. The father had been a simple water-carrier. It was one of the humblest jobs in the city. All you needed was a water-skin. Then you would go down to the river, fill it and then walk through the streets offering it for a millieme or two to the thirsty.
From a very early age Leila had had to take on the duties of the woman in the house, cleaning, cooking, carrying-even the water had to be fetched. From an early age, too, each day she had taken her fathers lunch to him.
From a very early age Leila had had to take on the duties of the woman in the house, cleaning, cooking, carrying-even the water had to be fetched. From an early age, too, each day she had taken her fathers lunch to him.
Too much for him to carry, I suppose, said Um Fattouha tartly. Though youd have thought hed have got used to carrying.
With no woman in the house, Leila had been almost indispensable to him.
Thats why he wouldnt let her marry. Its not that there werent inquiries. Theres plenty of mothers who wouldnt mind their son marrying someone who worked hard and didnt complain.
But of course he had known that he would have to let her go at some time. You could always get a woman in to do the housework. A marriageable woman, though, was worth something more than just her labour. The trouble was that she was a depreciating asset and the longer you left it, the less she would fetch.
So when old Fayoum came along, he had to do some hard thinking. Well, it wasnt that hard. Fayoum was worth a bit- well, to a water-carrier, anyway. There was a chance, too, they say, of a job on the cart itself, and when youre getting old, thats the kind of job you fancy. So he didnt have to think too long.
It was only when they began to think about the wedding- and there were plenty of women in the street who were ready to help him think about the wedding-that the problem was spotted.
It arose when they began to think about the wedding night itself and were making arrangements for the depilation.
Old Fayoums not going to like that, they said. Hell think theres something wrong.
So they went to see Leilas father.
Thats all right, he said. Theres still plenty of time. Just get on with it.
It was here, though, that opinions had begun to diverge, for some of the women hadnt liked it.
Shes too old, they said. Since its got to this stage, its best left as it is.
But Leilas father had been adamant.
Now it had got so far, he didnt want anything to go wrong. He was counting on that job on the cart, you see.
A number of the women who had been approached had been unwilling to do it. Um Fattouha herself had refused.
I might have done it better than that old bitch, she said, but even if it had gone right, there would still have been problems, wouldnt there? At her age it would have taken time to heal. Just think of the wedding night if she wasnt ready!
In the end, though, someone had been found and the operation performed.
Well, it went wrong from the start. There was that much blood! Or so I hear.
Leila had never recovered. She had lingered on for a few days and then died.
And that old bastard was too mean even to bury her properly! said Um Fattouha indignantly. He just threw her into the Canal like a bit of old rubbish!
(5Wk9
The swollen river lay uneasily within its banks. Even in the last day or two it had risen noticeably. Now as you walked along the embankment the water was lapping at your feet. The launch came right in to the bank. Owen hardly needed to step down. Along the banks the women were doing their washing, their silver anklets flashing in the sun. Further along, the buffaloes were lying in the water like hippopotami. The great stretch of the barrage rose up ahead of them.
Ferguson was waiting at the landing stage.
Aye, he said, its full. And when its full, its never still. Its straining, you see, straining to break out. And when it presses, it finds all the weak spots.
They walked through the Gardens to the engineers office, built out of the same sun-baked clay as the houses of the workmen further down the canal. In the early days they had built it of wood but then had found that wood was much hotter than clay, particularly when the walls were thick and the windows small.
Macrae was sitting at a table bent over a drawing. Overhead a fan was whirring. He looked up and pushed the drawing away.
So youve come, he said.
I came as soon as I got your message, said Owen.
Aye, said Macrae. He seemed unenthusiastic; even cast down.
Wed better have some coffee, he said. This is a bad one.
He went to the door and called. A boy, who had clearly been waiting, promptly appeared with a tray. He set it down on the table with a beam of white teeth.
Neither Ferguson nor Macrae were beaming.
Well, said Macrae abruptly, you were right. It was one of our own.
Ferguson shook his head.
We told you wed put it to them about the tools. Someone must have had tools, we said. And if anyone brought a tool kit in with them one day, the chances are that one of you would have seen it. Now, were all in this together-its like the village back at home-and if you saw it, you must tell us. Otherwise it could happen again! Well, thats what we said, and then we left them with it. They like to talk these things over, you see, among themselves. One of them would never come to us on his own. Theyre all part of the group, and its what the group decides. We just left it to them and, well, this morning they came back to us.
With a name?
Aye. Babikr.
Id never have thought it of him! said Ferguson.
It just shows how you can be deceived in people, said Macrae.
Aye.
They drank their coffee dispiritedly.
Hes always been quiet!
I thought he just liked to get on with it.
Well, he does like to get on with it. Weve never had any complaints, have we?
Ferguson shook his head.
Babikr! he said bitterly.
They gave you his name? said Owen.
Aye.
Does he know? That theyve given his name?
Must do.
Then hell be off unless we-Where is he?
Theyll be down by the regulator.
The men were taking their morning break. They were sitting up on the bank, unusually quiet.
There was no need to ask about Babikr. He was sitting apart from the others, his knees drawn up to his chin, arms round them, head bowed.
Owen went up to him.
Babikr, he said, you must come with me.
You know why I have taken you?
Yes, Effendi.
You broke into the store?
Yes, Effendi.
And took the dynamite?
Yes, Effendi.
And what did you do with it?
I put it beside the gate. In the culvert.
And detonated it?
Babikr nodded his head wordlessly.
Why, Babikr?
Babikr shook his head.
Was it because of something Macrae Effendi had done to you?
No, no, Effendi-
Or Ferguson Effendi?
No, Effendi, said Babikr, distressed.
Someone else, perhaps? Here at the barrage?
The man shook his head.
Or in the Department?
Again the shake.
Why then, Babikr?
He waited a while and then repeated the question. The man did not reply.
No one does a thing like this without reason, said Owen. What was your reason?
Babikr just tightened his lips.
Perhaps something bad had been done to you?
Babikr shook his head firmly.
No one does a thing like this without reason, said Owen. What was your reason?
Babikr just tightened his lips.
Perhaps something bad had been done to you?
Babikr shook his head firmly.
No, Effendi. It was not that.
Then what was it?
The Effendis have always been good to me.
Someone else?
No one else.
Owen sat back bewildered.
Is it that you are angry against the Khedive?
The Khedive?
It was almost as if the man had never heard of him.
Or the British, perhaps? Come, man, you may say it. Owen smiled. There are plenty who are.
Babikr shook his head.
You are not-? Owen wondered how to put it. With a more educated man he might have said a Nationalist. Or if uneducated, in Cairo he might have asked whether he was a member of one of the clubs. Or even of one of the gangs. But this man was a simple fellah, up, for a while, from the country.
You are not, perhaps, a follower of Mustapha Kamil?
Mustapha Kamil had been for a time the charismatic leader of the Nationalist movement. He was now dead but many national-istically-minded Egyptians still identified with him. At least they would have heard of him. Babikr, however, clearly had not.
But why did you do it, Babikr? Surely you can say?
Babikr, however, could, or would, not. In the end, Owen shrugged and let it rest. The man had confessed. That was all that was needed.